


In Which Enjolras is Really Stoned

by thepeopletoomustrise



Series: In Which Enjolras ____ [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Community: makinghugospin, Gen, Kink Meme, les mis kink meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeopletoomustrise/pseuds/thepeopletoomustrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for the prompt that Enjolras is on drugs during a recovery and is just flat out bizarre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Enjolras is Really Stoned

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT (LM Kink 2): Enjolras has just had minor surgery of some kind, and as someone who's never under the influence, the drugs are hitting him hard. He's saying bizarre things, seeing things or people that aren't there, etc. And of course he's adorably sleepy and sloppy and perhaps getting handsy with the person taking care of him, preferably Grantaire or Combeferre. The caretaker is endlessly amused.

“He won’t stop crying. He’s on the floor and he won’t stop crying,” 

When Jehan had shown up on Combeferre’s doorstep twenty minutes before, frazzled and clutching a book of poetry to his chest, he was rambling about how _CombeferrereallyneededtocomehelpCourfeyracwithEnjolrasbecausetheydidn’tknowhowtohandleit_ \-- and Combeferre could have come up with hundreds of reasons why they’d need help other than the actual situation he walked into.

After Enjolras’ injury during a riot in Paris a day before, they had been forced to seek urgent medical attention; and thanks to Joly’s vast connections in the medical community, they were able to provide him with some magical drug called morphine. And Courfeyrac had taken the evening shift to watch their friend.

Their friend who really should not have taken that experimental drug in the first place.

And now said friend was, indeed, curled up in the corner of his bedroom floor. Sheets and pillows were strewn about, cups were knocked over, and the Revolutionary sat in a quivering ball against the wall, with his face hidden behind his hands. 

Courfeyrac had left as soon as they arrived, murmuring something about needing a drink, with Jehan stumbling after him. They were eager to leave the Whimpering Ball of Enjolras to Combeferre’s care—mainly because any signs of weakness from their Chief made them immensely uncomfortable. All Jehan could do when he started to breakdown was rattle off poetry in a panicked fashion. 

Some help they were. 

Combeferre sighed and began to make his way from the bedroom doorway towards the figure that sat in the corner. “Enjolras?” he spoke in a gentle tone. He spent the morning with his high-as-a-flag friend, but it had been rather mellow; though it now seemed as though the effects of the drugs were coming full force, all at once. “Enjolras, it’s me. Is everything alright?” 

There was no response except the prolonged sniffle of Enjolras dragging his nose across his shirtsleeve. Combeferre frowned. “What’s gotten into you?” 

There was the sound of another long sigh, and Combeferre watched as Enjolras rubbed fists against his cheeks, which were damp with tears. He put a tentative hand on his friend’s arm, and when Enjolras spoke, his voice was high and dripping with so much emotion that it was like nothing he had ever heard come out of his mouth. “I just…” he trailed off, choking on whatever he intended his next word to be. 

“You just what?” Combeferre prodded. 

“I just…” and Enjolras finally looked up at his friend, and when Combeferre saw his bloodshot eyes, there was no doubt of the drug’s apparent effects. “I just love France _so much._ ” 

That was all he could manage before he began to sob again. 

Combeferre watched in complete shock, not sure whether to laugh or feel immensely uncomfortable. “…I know you love France. We all know. Come on now, there’s no use crying about it; let’s get you up to bed…” 

“But I _love_ France!” Enjolras wailed, and he hit his head against the wall in pure angst. “I love it _so much!_ ” 

“Uh,” Combeferre cleared his throat and placed an awkward hand on his friend’s shoulder, giving him a small pat. “Shhh, it’s okay. It’ll be just fine.” 

“I love France!” he buried his face in his friend’s shoulder with a miserable sob. 

“I know you do,” Combeferre honestly did not know how to proceed. His friend was in a drugged stupor that had induced an emotional breakdown about a country—this was not a circumstance that he had necessarily been prepared. “How about I fetch you some water, and you get back onto your bed, okay, Enjolras?” he eased Enjolras’ face from his shoulder, who was nodding- or at least it looked like he was. “Stay here.” 

But leaving the Ball of Emotion alone was not a very well thought out idea, because when the caretaker returned, Enjolras was not much better than before. 

He was now perched on his bed, hugging a map of France to his chest like a security blanket, rocking back and fourth. His whispers filled the room in an eerie praise; “ _Patria._ ” 

“…Enjolras? I have your water…” 

He didn't reply, “… _dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_ …”

Combeferre cautiously set the water on the table next to the bed, staring at his dazed friend as he stroked his hand across Paris on the map. “Enjolras. Water.” His friend stared up at him with glazed over eyes and a mouth half-open, and chuckled. “What?”

“I’m havin’ an… **intimate moment,** ” he slurred, chuckling again and holding tightly to the map. “Y’know… With… _Patria._ ” Combeferre stared at him as he grazed his fingers over the map, sighing romantically—which is something Combeferre thought he’d never hear. 

“Intimate moment?” 

“You know…” Enjolras leaned forward, holding the map slightly away from himself, and he whispered, “We’re doing _The Sex,_ Combeferre’” 

His friend raised his eyebrows, “…You cannot have sex with a map, Enjolras. Put that down.” 

“Shhh… Shhh….” Enjolras was slurring his words again, and he touched his map longingly to his lips and let out a soft whisper, “Pay no attention to that cynic; he just does not understand our relationship, my Dear Patria.” 

Combeferre didn’t blink or move for a long while. 

“Let’s put your map friend down, Enjolras.” 

“No.”

“Enjolras, put the map down!” he yanked the map out of his friend’s hands when he had began to stroke it in an awkward and rather uncomfortably sensual manner. “Drink your water.” 

“’Kay.”

There were a few minutes of silence that followed as Enjolras stared distantly and chuckled at nothing in particular, and Combeferre pulled a chair into the room so he would at least be comfortable. 

“Whee!” The Ball of Emotion flopped backwards onto the bed, which creaked with the impact. The noise was loud in the silence, and Combeferre looked up, observing him with fascination. His friend looked over, meeting his gaze. “Combeferre?!” 

“Mmm?”

“I’m _fat,_ aren’t I?”

“No.”

“I made the bed creak!”

“All beds creak.”

“…Okay.” 

Silence filled the air again, and Combeferre went back to reading the book he had brought to keep him company. Enjolras stared at the ceiling with an empty expression.

“....Flags,” 

Combeferre looked up again, “What?”

“Flags,” Enjolras repeated, and he laughed hysterically for a moment before rolling over and staying silent for a few minutes. 

In those few minutes, Combeferre had put his book down and leaned his head back on the chair. In the events of the night prior, he hadn’t slept an hour… and with such a silent room, and boring book, he just….

\----------------------------------------------------------------

“...the Hell!” Combeferre woke up with a start, silently scolding himself for dozing off on the job. The fuzzy outline of the room melted away, and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He couldn’t have been out for that long… 

Wait. 

Enjolras wasn’t in the bed anymore. 

Panic melted into him and he shouted, “ENJOLRAS?!”

He leapt from his chair, practically flying into the ceiling, and glanced around the room in panic. “Enjolras, where are you?! Enjolras!” He was indeed nowhere in the room, therefore Combeferre left it, stumbling over the mess of blankets on the floor and into the small hallway adjoining his room, “Enjolras!” 

And just as he walked into his friend’s small living quarters, he felt someone shove him aside, rather softly into the wall. It was Enjolras. 

“What on earth are you doing?!” 

“Protecting you! _Duck!_ ” his leader shrieked, blonde hair whipping from side to side. Combeferre grabbed his arms with a firm grip. 

“From what?!”

“From the National Guard! Run! They’re shooting!” 

Hallucinations? 

Enjolras ducked furiously, dropping to the floor and clinging to Combeferre’s leg, shouting, _Patria!_

Yes, definitely hallucinations. 

“There's no Guard here, Enjolras... Be careful! You’re supposed to be resting!” he patted his friend’s sweaty hair and sighed, exasperated. Enjolras’ grip didn’t loosen. 

“I had to protect you!” 

“Thank you, Enjolras. Will you please let go?” 

Nope. Apparently not. 

He clung to his friend’s legs tightly, giggling sporadically between mumbling of revolutionary pride. And it wasn’t until Combeferre began to shuffle back towards the bedroom that his friend finally let go. 

He helped him into his bed once more, picking the blankets up off the floor and draping them across him. He felt a pang of guilt ripple through his gut; he shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Enjolras was supposed to be on bed rest, but instead was galloping through the house in a trance doing God knows what while he napped. 

What he had lacked earlier he tried to make up for. He tucked his giggling friend under the blankets, resting them against his chest and situating the pillow a bit better under his head. 

“Is that alright?” Enjolras nodded, so he took that as a good sign. “Do you need anything?” 

Enjolras didn’t stir, so Combeferre sat back in his chair, grabbing his book, determined to stay awake no matter what. 

And, as if Enjolras could read the stubborn man’s mind, he decided now would be the opportune time to start conversation. “Combeferre, may I tell you something?”

He didn’t expect to hear anything other than more drabble about the Revolution, so he muttered a small “Mhm,” as he read his book. 

“I touched my penis yesterday.” 

This caused Combeferre to drop his book on the ground. 

Okay then. That was one way to make conversation.

Enjolras was unfazed by his friend’s clear shock, and he continued to stare up at the ceiling with glazed over eyes and drooping eyelids, a smile plastered on his face. 

“It felt like a... _worm._ ”

“…T-That’s nice, Enjolras,” he said through his teeth, and he bent over to grab his book, his cheeks blooming red in embarrassment for his friend. 

“What’s sex like?” he continued, and all Combeferre did was stare at him in shock. “I don’t really think of it because it’s not really worth my time, you know, but penises really make you wonder. Do you think about penises, Combeferre? I know boys can have sex together. Did you know that? Courfeyrac told me that- he tells me a lot. That’s like, two worms having a vicious duel! Isn’t it, Combeferre?” 

Combeferre was dumbfounded, and Enjolras rambled regardless, his words burbling like a brook. 

“Yeah, I don’t need trivial things such as sex to be happy. I need Revolution. _France is my sex_ , Combeferre!” he insisted. A pause. His voice wavered, “I love France.” 

Oh, no. Please don't cry again. “I know.”

“Courfeyrac told me that he thinks Grantaire wants to have sex with me,”

Not as shocking as it should have been. “…Well...” 

“I don’t know. Though he does have nice hands,” he let out an exasperated, not to mention high, sigh, and giggled. “ _Worms,_ Combeferre! Or, they can be like flags, I guess. Penises are flags! It’s a whole new Revolution! Of _male genitals!_ ” 

Combeferre had no idea what was going on at this point, but whatever it was, it was making him increasingly uncomfortable. Even though Enjolras was his dearest friend, he just couldn’t hide his secondhand embarrassment. 

While his friend continued to ramble about things from worms to Lamarque he decided he’d take a break and refill his cup of water- which had been knocked over at one point. He did so, giving Enjolras a soft pat on the shoulder as he went out, and it seems he figured out what Enjolras was doing while he slept. 

He made a freaking barricade in the kitchen. 

Freaking _perfect._

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I got everything correct for the era (IE the morphine and worm reference) but, oh well. I literally just wrote this on a whim so I hope it's at least bearable to read.
> 
> Thank you all SO much for feedback! I really appreciate it!


End file.
